The Planet Killers

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Roy Gardner paused for a moment outside Security Chief Karnes’ office, making sure his uniform was straight. Karnes had sent for him with only an hour’s notice. That was fairly little time to get spruced up for an audience with your superior officer.

Besides which, Gardner had no idea why he was wanted. You never did, when you worked for Security. They sent you a message, or they buzzed you on the phone and said, “Karnes wants to see you,” and you hopped to it. Security Chief Karnes was not a man who enjoyed being kept waiting.

Gardner stepped into the scanning field outside Karnes’ office. The green glow bathed him for a moment, simultaneously checking his face against the master files and examining him for concealed weapons. Then the door rolled silently back.

Security Chief Karnes sat in the curve of a kidney-shaped desk, smiling pleasantly. He was a man still in his prime, no more than fifty-five. He had held his dreaded post as Chief of the Terran Security Service for fifteen years, and probably would hold it for three decades yet to come. Karnes was thin-faced and youthful-looking, with a bristly crop of copper-colored hair, and black eyes like little marbles.

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